Fall For You (Over Again)
by Kelsey Masiker
Summary: Demetria (Demi) Vale is the mother of Marybelle Johnah Winchester-Vale. That makes the father Dean. They, however, are no longer "together", unless Dean is drunk. They still very much love each other, and they love their daughter. But Dean can't be tied down... So what's the point? (Drama/Romance/OC/Child)
1. Chapter 1

I pulled my daughter's long, curly, dirty blonde hair into a high ponytail and tied it with a red hair-tie, smiling to myself.  
"Do I look pretty, momma?"  
"Of course you do, sweetheart," I told her, picking her up under her armpits to stand up. "Go show your daddy and see what he says."  
She giggled, nodding, and then bounded across the motel room, going to the kitchen-like part of it, grabbing Dean's dark blue jeans and pulling on it.  
"Daddy, Daddy! Lookit my hair!"  
Dean turned from the window he was peering out of and looked down, smiling fondly at her and then scooping her up into his arms, spinning her around in a few circles.  
"It's beautiful! Momma did a good job, didn't she?"  
"Mhm," she cooed, wrapping her small, chubby arms around the back of his neck, hugging him tightly.  
He patted her back and shot a look at me with a friendly smile. I smiled back and got up, brushing my legs off of any dirt that I may have acquired from sitting on the floor of a dirty old motel room. I decided while Dean had our daughter occupied; I could double-check everything that we had packed for our trip.  
We were going to get Dean's brother, Sam, from Stanford. Dean's father, John, had gone missing during our last hunt, and Dean needed his help to find him. I wasn't offended by the fact that he didn't think that I could help him. I was actually relieved. I had to take care of our daughter; and that was a lot of work.  
I went over to my bed and made sure my suitcase was fully packed and zipped shut, and then went to Dean's duffel to make sure he remembered everything as well. I learned to check his bag too about a year back, when his dad was driving down the interstate and Dean groaned loudly; announcing that he had forgotten his favorite pair of pajama pants back at the motel that we had left five hours ago. Dean isn't always as perceptive as he needs to be, I also learned.  
Luckily today, he had everything that he needed. So then I scrounged the room for lost baby toys or anything else that could have been moved around due to our so adventurous daughter. I guess I was having a great day because I already had everything ready to go.  
I picked up all of the bags I could carry with two lanky arms and turned to Dean, whom was by now zipping her up in a puffy pink coat.  
"I got most of the bags. You ready to go now?"  
"Yep," he responded, looking up, "And I think she's still tired."  
"Well it is five in the morning," I laughed dryly, moving towards the wooden door.  
"We gotta get there as early as possible. Even by now, we're not going to get there until super late."  
"Going to need to make a lot of rest stops," I replied, walking out of the room.  
I heard him scoff before I was out of earshot and I rolled my eyes. I went to the Impala and opened the trunk, lying the bags on top of the false panel. The false panel was borderline genius, I thought. Easy to access and so very convenient. I smiled to myself and leaned on the fender, turning to see Dean carrying two bags and our daughter.  
"Zonked?" I questioned quietly, and he nodded, handing her over to me.  
I walked to the side of the car, opening the door and placing her gently in the car seat, her head limp. I buckled her in nice and snug and made sure Dean put her warm clothes on right. I also placed the blanket lying on the other seat on her legs, just in case. I then shut the door as silent as possible and slid in the passenger side of the Impala.  
Dean got in a moment later, revving the Impala to life.  
"Seat belt," I chided, buckling myself in.  
He scoffed and rolled his eyes, buckling himself in as well.  
"Two scoffs within ten minutes - new record, buddy."  
"Shut up," he replied, adjusting the rear-view mirror and pushing his foot on the gas pedal.  
I accommodated myself in my seat, sliding down, with my head resting on the pane of the window.  
"You're still tired?"  
"Mhm," I yawned. "Five o'clock in the damn morning."  
"And we're going to still not get there until at least ten," he sighed.  
"We're going to have to stop a lot."  
"Then about midnight?"  
"That's safe to say," I replied.  
He shook his head and leaned back more into his seat, keeping his beautiful hazel eyes narrowed and trained on the road before him. He was quiet again. He used to be so talkative, especially when driving; he pointed things out that he's seen before, and that I never had. I've noticed that he's been more on edge lately. More rough with his actions. More distant than I knew him to be. I knew why.  
"We're going to find him." I said after minutes of uncomfortable - to me - silence.  
"I know," was his reply.  
"Even if Sam doesn't want to come with. We'll still find him."  
"Yeah."  
"Even if we have to make Sam babysit. That's the least he could do."  
To this, Dean cracked a small smile, and I did too.  
"I don't think Sam has time to babysit."  
"But he has time to quit college and run off with us?"  
"That's a completely different scenario."  
"No, just different outcomes for him!"  
"Right," he drawled.  
"Speaking of which, if he does come, he has to sit in the back," I announced.  
"You'll have to fight that with him," Dean replied.  
"I'm older than him," I said, sitting up a bit straighter.  
"I know. But he's always sat up front, unless dad was driving. Then I'd sit shotgun."  
"He needs bonding time with his niece."  
Dean chuckled, shaking his head.  
I wondered aloud, "You've mentioned her, right?"  
"Maybe once or twice."  
"What? Why not more?"  
"It never really came up."  
"The fact that you're a father never had any opportunity to come up?" I asked incredulously.  
"I guess not."  
I went silent at this, continuing to study his facial expression. He tried his best to avoid my hard gaze. Then his eyes darted to mine and then he groaned loudly.  
"You're mad!"  
"What? I am not," I grumbled, turning in my seat..  
"Why are you mad?"  
"I'm not!"  
"Demi. Why are you mad?" He said in a more stern tone.  
It was my turn to sigh.  
"I'm not… but if I was; it would be because I know that the only reason you didn't bring it up is because you're ashamed of it."  
Immediately as the words came out of my mouth, the Impala slowed and I instinctively flinched. The only times that the Impala ever slowed down was when either Dean or I was going to get "thoroughly-talked-to" by John. Since John wasn't here right now, I assumed that "responsibility" was laid onto Dean's shoulders.  
Dean pulled over the Impala and unbuckled himself and I shut my light brown eyes tightly. I was half expected to get dragged out of the car, and thrown against a tree. That had happened twice since my stay with the eldest Winchester and his dad. John was pretty rough when he was being serious. Or in general.  
"I'm not gonna hit you," Dean snorted, leaning over and unbuckling my seat belt.  
"Then why did you pull over?"  
"So I can actually talk to you without almost getting us in a car accident."  
I would of laughed if it were any other situation. I bit my lip instead.  
"Okay, look. I'm not going to make this into a chick-flick moment… But I do think that the problem should be addressed. Right? That's what happens in healthy relationships."  
"We're not exactly in a relationship anymore."  
Dean's face seemed to cloud. His jaw clenched and then unclenched rapidly; a trait that I always noticed.  
"You're right," he said, his voice tight; a little more cold and hard than before, "But we are very close friends."  
I looked down into my lap, letting my wavy blonde fringe fall into my eyes. Yep, very close, meaning whenever he's upset or I'm upset we're there for each other. Or that if I'm getting hit on by a pervert, or he's getting hit on by an ugly girl, we're suddenly dating again. Or if he's drunk and I'm a even little tipsy, we have sex on the motel bed. Or the fact that we have an almost-three-year-old daughter together. Very close friends.  
"C'mon," he whined, "Look back at me. You know I hate it when you don't look into my eyes when we talk."  
I rolled my eyes and looked back, "Yeah, 'cause you can't tell when I'm rolling my eyes at your stupidity, right?"  
"Precisely," he laughed, before quickly sobering up.  
"Now seriously... I'm only going to say this once; and you've just gotta trust me, okay?"  
I nodded back at him, tilting my head slightly.  
"I love you, Demi. I really, really do. I love everything about you, and I love everything about our daughter. I'm not ashamed of either of you. But you get that I… I just can't be tied down… Right?"  
I almost smiled when he confessed that he still loved me. But any hopes were shot down by the last part of the confession. I fluttered my eyelids, my face looking like a blank canvas for a moment, until I put on my bare emotion. I'd assume if I were to look at myself in a mirror; it'd look like someone just told me that my mother had cancer, or that they just hit my puppy with a car and he's dead.  
"Right, Dean. I get it," I said in a hoarse voice.  
I felt like I was going to cry. I swallowed, and blinked my eyes quickly to get the tears to stay at bay.  
He looked very pained as well, studying my face..  
"So, then please don't play the guilt card and say that I don't care. I care more about you than any other girl. And I care more about Mary than anyone else. Okay?"  
I looked back at Marybelle, who was still sleeping soundly. The really good thing about this girl was that she slept like her father - couldn't be awoken if you played a tuba in her ear.  
"Okay," I whispered.  
Then Dean did something I couldn't have seen coming. He shifted his weight, propping himself and leaning forward, grabbing my shoulder and my arm, pulling me towards him. With his other hand, he let go of my arm once he had the support on my back, and he gently grabbed the side of my face, tilting my head upwards to meet my lips with his in a very tender kiss.  
Bittersweet memories of our time together invaded my mind. I thought about everything within a few seconds - yet without thinking. It's a hard process to explain. You just feel it. You feel every emotion all at once and it leaves you breathless. It leaves you happy. It leaves you angry. It leaves you sad. I couldn't have held the kiss longer even if we tried.  
Then he pulled back, smiled, and then buckled himself back in.  
I leaned back in my seat again, shakily buckling myself back in also. I scooted down in my seat, resting my head again and tightly shutting my eyes.  
The only thought in my mind was: _Why do I still love you?_


	2. Chapter 2

I had dozed off about half an hour after Dean and I's awkward encounter. I was thankful for the reprieve of my own mind - I fell into a dreamless sleep. I hated having dreams, because I know that they won't ever come true; so why bother wasting my energy thinking them up? Also, with dreams, come nightmares. Those are pretty nasty too. I used to wake up screaming for at least a solid month after I met Dean… Those times were bad…

I slept for a little over six hours; which was amazing despite the cramp in my neck I acquired. I woke up to the sound of Mary's high-pitched voice saying, "Daddy, I'm hungry!"

I rolled over in my seat, rubbing my neck and sitting up straighter, yawning.

"Momma? You awake?"

"Mhm," I mumbled, turning around to smile warmly at her.

She smiled back, saying, "Are we gonna stop to eat?"

I looked over at Dean, and he nodded.

"Yep, baby. We're gonna have to eat it to go, though, okay?"

"We don't have to," Dean said, glancing at me.

I turned back to face him, catching the moment his eyes flicked back to the road. What was he doing? It would only take that much longer to get to Stanford to get Sam… Maybe he was trying to make up earlier to me. I'd bet on that reasoning.

"Fine. We'll eat in a diner," I said, turning back to Mary.

"And when we get back, can I have my dolly?" She asked me, tilting her head.

"Which one, sweetheart?"

"I want… Lily!"

Mary had three dolls. It was hard enough to make sure that they were always kept track of! How was I supposed to remember which one is Lily?

"It's the brown-haired one," Dean said under his breath.

I turned my head slightly again to look at him. He kept his eyes trained on the road.

"The one that cries?"

He nodded slightly and I turned back to Mary.

"Alright, sweetie. I'll get you Lily. Do you want your colors, too?"

She nodded and burrowed herself back in her carseat, turning to look out the window and stare at the seemingly moving earth. I turned back around as well, adjusting the seat belt back over my chest. It was only another fifteen minutes until we reached a small town, where we found a homey looking diner. Dean pulled the Impala into the dirt parking lot and shut off the car.

"We're here!" Mary announced.

"Yep," Dean agreed, climbing out of the car, I following suit.

I got Mary out and she insisted on walking in herself, so I insisted back that she held my hand. It was an easy compromise, and we all walked into the diner.

Immediately it smelled like maple syrup, sausages, and pancakes. Mary looked around expectantly, smiling at everything. She was always so happy; I loved it! Nothing could make this little girl upset.

"Welcome to Henry's!" A busty red-headed woman called from behind the main counter of the diner, "Sit anywhere you'd like! Do ya need a highchair for that little one?"

"Yes please," Dean answered, taking us over to a booth in the corner of the small place. I sat down and put Mary on my lap until the woman hurried over with a wooden highchair.

"There ya go!" She said, beaming at us.

I guess they're really friendly around these parts, I thought as I put Mary in her seat.

"Here are your menus; what can I get you to drink?"

I glanced over the beverage column. Coke products. I wasn't a big soda drinker, anyway.

"Can I get a water, and an orange juice for her?"

"Mhm," she said, jotting it down. "And for you, sir?"

"Water too, please," he said, flashing her a wicked smile.

She flushed and nodded furiously, turning around and bustling back to the fountain. I kicked Dean under the table and he glared at me.

"What?"

"She's like forty!" I exclaimed.

"So? You're like thirty."

I narrowed my eyes, my eyebrows knitting together, putting on my best death-glare. He seemed to shrink away, averting his eyes.

"I'm twenty-four," I growled, "Two_ years_ behind you, buddy."

Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes and looking back down at his menu. The redheaded woman returned minutes later, placing our drinks down in front of us.

"Momma, can I get pancakes?"

I looked up at the woman, "You still serving breakfast?"

"All day, ma'am!"

"Great. Then can we get a small order of pancakes with syrup, and a cheese omelette for me, please?"

"_Vegetarian_," Dean hissed, as if the very word was created in the depths of Hell.

I glowered back at him, without missing a beat, retorting, "Animal murderer."

"I don't murder the animals; I just eat 'em up!"

"Simplistic pig, then," I responded, leaning back in the booth as an act of victory.

"Pig, you say? I'd definitely like some bacon for whatever I'm eating. Wanna call me a cow? I'm thinkin' of gettin' a bacon burger."

My mouth dropped open, and I stared at him in disgust as he smirked and he leaned back in mock triumph.

Mary looked between us; confused but not verbally questioning. The redheaded lady looked almost worried of our bickering, her chocolate-brown eyes darting between us, unsure if to interrupt or gaze on in horror.

"If you get the bacon-burger; I'm keying your car."

"I've got the keys."

"I've got the second pair!"

"I'd get it out of your hands before you could get to my car!"

"Is that a challenge?"

"Yes!"

I stared him down, my muscles tensing as if to jump up. Then I smiled, and he smiled too. It was fun to relax. To let go. To have fun…

"After brunch," I said, relaxing my muscles.

"Promise?"

"Yes. Get your stupid burger."

His eyes lit up and he looked at the woman, whom still looked utterly confused.

"Get me a bacon burger, then! Fries too, please."

"Ah… Alrighty then," she said, switching back to her happy persona and hurrying away again.

Mary looked between us again, "You two are _crazy_."

Dean immediately threw his head back in laughter, and I could only hold back for a few seconds before I joined him. It was going to be a good afternoon; I could just tell.


	3. Chapter 3

Brunch was good. Mary entirely ate her pancakes, and sipped down most of her orange juice; we were proud of her. We paid for our food and I stretched out before turning to Dean, a big smirk on my face.

"Hm?" He asked, zipping Mary's coat back up on her.

I pulled out the second set of keys, and dangled them out in front of me.

"You get Mary; I've got other business to attend to!"

Dean's eyes widened in fear, and he almost darted at me right then and there, but he quickly picked up Mary by the time I flung myself out the door, running straight for the Impala. Of course I wasn't actually going to scratch it; Dean would literally destroy me. But it was the most fun we could have right now.

Dean came barreling out of the restaurant like a bat out of Hell, Mary shrieking and giggling. I whipped around, putting one of the keys to the door of the car.

"Don't move; or the car gets it!" I yelled at him, pointing menacingly like they do in the movies.

Dean glowered at me, and then instantly flipped Mary around holding her upside down, much to her glee. He dangerously ran his fingers over her coat.

"Hand me the keys; or the kid gets it!" He mocked me.

"You wouldn't dare tickle my baby girl!" I growled back at him.

"No tickle!" Mary squealed, flailing her arms and legs, giggling already at the simple threat.

"I would! Wouldn't I, Marybelle?"

"Momma! Save me!" She hollered.

"On the count of three, you put Mary rightside up, and I'll put the keys in my pocket! Alright?"

"No way! On three, you walk over here and give me your keys! Alright?"

I narrowed my light brown eyes once again, my mind formulating a plot.

"Fine. Start counting."

He narrowed his eyes as well, "One… Two… Three!"

I walked over quickly, smiling and holding the keys out. Dean reached his hand out to grab them, and as soon as he was in distance, I dropped the keys, slamming my foot down on them, snatching his wrist and bending it backwards in a painful position. I didn't put too much pressure on to actually hurt him; but enough to cause discomfort.

"Gimme the kid!" I growled.

His eyes were widened again, and he looked shocked. I smirked back at him and he scoffed, flipping Mary around again and handing her off to me. I dragged my foot back, taking the keys with me. His nostrils flared in irritation. I felt like I was challenging a bull… And dear God, how essentially right I was.

His back hunched over and he lunged forward. Mary and I squealed in unison as he swooped down and grabbed onto my legs, standing back up, hauling me up into the air.

"Dean!" I squeaked, clutching onto Mary tightly, feeling wobbly.

He looked up at me mischievously, "You're both fine."

He knelt down and picked up the key from off of the ground and I huffed a sigh. I felt him chuckle and Mary repeated, "Crazy! Both of you!"

I couldn't help but to crack another smile. How right she was! We're all mad here…

Dean walked over to the Impala and dropped me back down at my feet by the rear passenger door, taking Mary from my grips and situating her in her car seat as I grabbed Lily from the trunk; along with a Disney princess coloring book and a pack of crayons. That would keep her occupied for a while, I thought.

After she was buckled in, Dean closed the door and turned back to me, and I found his finger wagging itself in front of my face.

"Don't ever threaten my baby again!" He scolded.

I laughed at him, shaking my head and gesturing to Mary, "Don't ever threaten my baby again, either!"

"I can threaten her if I want; she's my baby too!"

I patted the hood of the Impala, "By that logic, this is my baby too."

"What the hell is your logic?"

"If your logic is that Mary is our baby, then the Impala is our baby too, since you're the dad."

"This baby has a different mom!" He retorted.

"But who's still around to take care of it?" I cheekily responded, grinning.

He shook his head, grumbling, and took off to the driver's side of the door, and I barely heard him mutter, "Not your baby."

I rolled my eyes and slid into the passenger side of the car, buckling in immediately. Dean followed suit and turned on the radio, changing it to a local rock station, keeping it at moderate level.

The first song that came on; I didn't recognize, but Dean did. I truly think that it's a proven fact that Dean was born with all classic rock songs memorized in his tiny little brain. He could tell you who sings them, the title, the album, the recording company, and the year of making for almost any old song. It was all filed away in a big cabinet in the back of his mind. He knew classic rock better than anyone I had ever met.

I used to think that I was a connoisseur of good music, until I met him. We bonded over our mutual love of Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, and Deep Purple. We warred over the knowledge of Plant and Page, and whether or not Ramble On or Traveling Riverside Blues was the best song from them. I was on the Ramble On side, but I did agree that Traveling was a great song too.

He even showed obscure bands; or introduced me more fully into the bands I had only heard some songs from; like Styx, Jethro Tull, The Byrds, and Cream. Now I could tell you that Wheels of Fire came out in 1968, and I could recite to you the exact lyrics from The Byrd's "The Airport Song". I could compare and contrast J.Y. and Dennis DeYoung, and tell you why DeYoung is way better… Just all thanks to his teachings.

It also works vice versa. I taught him to appreciate the other bands, like Fleetwood Mac, Chicago, The Kinks, and The Blue Oyster Cult. He had only heard "Don't Fear the Reaper" from Blue Oyster Cult; and I introduced him to my favorite album of theirs; Cultosaurus Erectus (don't you dare laugh like he did). I forced him to listen to it, and The Kinks' album "Low Budget". For Fleetwood Mac, I didn't have to do much. He latched onto it immediately, which was great; I thought I'd have to spend countless more hours arguing with him to even try it. He now absolutely adores the song "Dreams", and I think that I could guess why… It fits him perfectly.

On the radio, a nice instrumental opening came on; and I recognized it immediately. I turned to Dean, my mouth slightly agape. He looked at me and wordlessly turned the song up.

The song was from The Eagles, and it was called "Love Will Keep Us Alive". When I met Dean; I was twenty-one, and he was twenty-three. We were shamelessly in love. I met his father, his "uncle" Bobby, and his brother, all the while knowing that I was pregnant with Mary, but none of them knew. I was almost ashamed to tell Dean. I was taking birth control regularly, and he even used a condom; but they didn't work. I was disappointed in myself. I knew that John would be upset… it wasn't worth getting everyone upset for. So I kept quiet.

Later on, I had to tell Dean. It was starting to become noticeable from my odd cravings, to my slightly growing stomach, to my morning sickness… And Dean asked me, quite bluntly… I had to tell him. I cried. He looked on, impassively as a stone. I thought that he was mad. I thought that he would be so upset with me… Then, from the radio in Bobby's kitchen, this song came on. Dean had smiled, closed his eyes and sighed deeply.

I remember he said, "Well, there's no use getting upset over it… I still love you, Demi." The song then became "our" song.

There was nothing much more to that story. Sam eventually left for Stanford, and then we told John. He wasn't too entirely mad; but we both did get "thoroughly-talken to". He made sure that we were listening to every word he had to say, especially the part about him not taking care of the baby at all… Though when she came around, I think he loved her more than he thought he would. I often found him snuggling her, or just holding her close. Mary really liked him, too…

My thoughts were interrupted by Dean, his deep voice rumbling in song, "I would die for you, climb the highest mountain for you, baby, there's nothing I wouldn't do…"

"You still remember the words?"

"Of course I do," he responded, "It was the song that was playing when I found out I was gonna be a dad."

"It's our song," I reminded him.

"I know," he said, smiling softly, "It's a great song."

I nodded in reply, looking back to see Mary tiredly scribbling away on her coloring book. Dean glanced in the rearview mirror as well to look.

"I hope she's a Zeppelin fan," I sighed.

"She'll never go to a concert…"

I frowned, "But we still have Journey!"

"I hate Journey!"

"You lie! I heard you bust out into Don't Stop Believin'."

He rolled his eyes, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel to the ZZ Top song that just came on the radio.

"Only because everyone knows that song."

"Once I heard you sing Still They Ride."

"Everyone knows that album!"

"Which album?"

"Escape!"

"So you do like Journey?"

"What?" He turned to glower at me, looking flushed, "No!"

"Nobody knows any other songs on Escape, Dean!"

"Shut up," he grumbled, looking back at the road.

I kept silent for a few moments, before biting my lip to suppress a laugh.

"What?" He asked, glancing in my direction.

"I bet you like Chicago, don't you?" I teased.

"No way!" He roared, "Chicago is a stupid band!"

"Daddy," Mary whined from the back seat, "Shush!"

Dean looked into the rearview mirror, putting on a blank face, "Sorry, sweetheart."

"It's okay," she replied, looking back down at her coloring book.

I giggled out loud, turning to face the window, "Defensive-Chicago-Fan-Say-What?"

"What?"

Childishly; I burst out laughing.

"What did you say?" Dean demanded.

"I said… Defensive Chicago fan say what?"

"You're so immature."

"At least I'm not a Chicago fan."

Dean decided on a different tactic; pouting.

"I'm not a Chicago fan! Stop calling me one."

"You're resorting to pouting, Dean?"

"Only because I can't hit you; since I'm driving."

I shook my head, sighing.

"Fine. But you are a REO fan."

"How dare you!"

"You can't fight this feeling anymore, Dean," I replied, resting my head on the door and closing my eyes.

"I give up on you!" He announced, turning the radio up louder; Chicago's song "You're the Inspiration" playing loud and clear.

"Hey, it's your favorite band, Dean."

Dean shut off the radio then.

"Shut up," he groaned, popping in a Metallica cassette.

"You can't redeem yourself."

"I said shut up."

I did; smiling to myself. I wished every day could be filled with arguments like this. I loved feeling… _normal._


End file.
